About the Song

Monday, and miniscule flakes of snow started to fall to the ground...

The wooden clock ticked, and ticked and struck 10am.

The computer hummed with the monotonous voice of machinery.

It had been a diverse week and the song still filled the air and repeated itself in Ava's head.

What was it about The Song.

Was it about The Song?

It had been a potent cocktail concoction of so many elements. It was the strings, the chords, the sound, the tune, the waves, the voice in all of it...

The consideration and the knowing.

It was a new song and when the other musician heard of it, well, he swore his affections for it too.

'As soon as I saw the song, I knew I'd love it,' was the remark.

There were new rhythms in the air which longed to be filled but would they?

Sometimes, even those that played their hearts on strings, had entered into agreements to never indulge in the music again. To hear it, yes, to play it, yes, but not to enter into the music again. To never embrace the root of the music... if this were to be the case... Ava would know to tie her laces fast and run.